March is women's history month. A roster of women's names scrolled across my mind as potential blog ideas. I'd read biographies of amazing women, and the internet would provide thousands more. I'd pluck out Fab Five Women, telling of their turning points and milestones.
Reading allows us to exit our microcosm and see the world through the eyes of those whose lives differ from our own. Isabel Wilkerson's book, Caste: The Origins of Our Discontents, is one such opportunity.
For the first time in United States' history, we have an autocratic movement in our country. Seventy-five million people have some soul searching to do and take responsibility. Before we "come together," the wound created between us needs to be cleaned out before it can heal.
Today is a difficult period, but also a time of incredible promise. When the pain keeps coming, it's easy to believe it will never end, especially when we carry a three-pound brain that latches onto bad news and conspiracy theories. In the eighth-month of each pregnancy, my mind started whispering that walking around like a penguin for the rest of my days was my karma for previous lives’ misdeeds.
The day after Donald J. Trump was elected, my three freshmen granddaughters, Sunnie, Sophie, and Elizabeth texted me. We'd discussed Mr. Trump's misogynistic behavior. Of all the back-and-forth texts the one that gut-punched me were two words from Sunnie, my multiracial granddaughter; "I'm scared.”